


stay down

by bipercabeth



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Other, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipercabeth/pseuds/bipercabeth
Summary: An AU in which Grover is on the Argo II as protector instead of Hedge, because I say so. He and Percy get to have an actual conversation about the effects of Tartarus + that godawful conversation with Jason.
Relationships: Background percabeth - Relationship, Percy Jackson & Grover Underwood
Comments: 63
Kudos: 527





	stay down

**Author's Note:**

> Hey babes, please read the tags bc this is pretty intense.

Percy is tired. That’s what he tells Grover when he asks how he’s doing (and Grover asks often). 

_I’m just tired._

_Saving the world for the fifth summer in a row gets tiring, you know? I’m gonna go nap. Wake me up when I’m on watch._

_It’s nothing. Just haven’t been able to sleep. Since the world is ending again._

Everyone else has stopped asking. 

It’s not for lack of caring. Percy’s loyalty outweighs his self-deprecation; he can’t think lowly enough of the people around him to claim they don’t care about him. He just makes it easier for them to forget. Indifference is more comfortable than concern. How can Percy explain himself to Jason, Piper, and Leo, who don’t know him; to Frank and Hazel, who admire him; or to Annabeth and Grover, who love him? He tried with Jason after the incident with the poison, and the guy gave him that hard-pressed grimace—lips pulled tight and to the side—before dismissing the topic entirely. Jason paused, perhaps to think, and Percy heard rejection in the silence. It was just like when he set fire to the band room at Goode: Percy was standing with his face sooty and his skin torn apart by debris, looking out at the horror and disbelief on the faces of his peers. So he did with Jason what he did then. He ran. 

Maybe Jason truly thought nothing of it. The guy was raised by wolves, after all. He doesn’t seem like the type to sit in his emotions. Maybe the conversation took a turn down a road Jason can’t walk either; maybe he’s a runner, just like Percy. 

_Tired_ gets everyone else off his back. Annabeth narrows her eyes with that analytical stare that used to break Percy, but even she can be fooled. That stare worked when his problems were smaller—the weight of the world instead of the weight of himself. After a lifetime of shouldering impossible burdens, the thing that makes his legs shake is getting out of bed in the morning. Just the weight of sixteen years, of five straight summers being a hero. If he lives to see a time where the world doesn’t need a hero—when it doesn’t need _Percy_ —who will he be? Childhood turned to dust alongside the first monster he plunged Riptide into. What story will he write when it comes time to put down the sword and pick up the pen? 

Truth is, _tired_ is the only word Percy has. _Sad_ doesn’t cover it. Sadness is heavy, not hollow. Sadness turns the volume up with the same deliberate hand as grief. This existence is quieter, more passive than sadness. Tired expects nothing from him. It’s a ticket out of every room, an excuse to lay in bed and stay. Tired has a solution: sleep until it goes away. Well, Percy is sleeping and sleeping and sleeping, but nothing is changing. Maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s not doing it right. Maybe he just needs to sleep longer. 

His bed is the only safe space on the Argo II. The stables were nice when the only memory Percy had of the glass floor was the cool press of it against his skin as he held Annabeth that first night aboard. Now when they’re in the air, all Percy sees is another one-way trip, another hard fall. He wonders how long it would take him to reach the ground if the doors gave out under his feet. Not the days it took to fall to Tartarus, surely. That’s a comfort if nothing else. What isn’t a comfort is the view from underwater when they’re sea-bound. The light sings a song of dark greens, a distortion of what should be gold. Water twists; it consumes; it lies. Water drowns. One misstep and Percy will sink the entire ship. 

He’s en route to his bed after another tense meal. It’s rare to have everyone both aboard the ship and gathered at the dinner table. Silence hangs heavily over the room, reminding each demigod of a different silent dinner from their pasts. Hazel watches her mother go mad, Frank weathers bitter silence with his grandmother, and Annabeth haunts her childhood home like a ghost. Percy hasn’t the slightest clue what the others think of, but he knows the look of wayward souls when he sees them. Piper picks at her plate, Leo cleans his too quickly, and Jason doesn’t knock a crumb out of place. It’d say something about each of them, if Percy had it in him to articulate it. But he doesn’t. For the same reason he excuses himself from the table with a half-hearted excuse about napping—he cannot inquire about other people’s demons without being expected to confront his own. Every meal where Percy ducked his head to his food to hide the day’s bruises flashes in his mind. He keeps walking. 

The only person he can’t read at meals is Grover. It’s stupid, what with the empathy link and all, but it’s true. Besides, their eye contact is always met by slight head tilts and eyebrow raises—the quiet inquiries that leave Percy utterly useless. After weeks of growing numb, that one look leaves him walking through the world without skin. Each step on the ship’s wood panels carves through Percy’s exposed nerves like a hot knife. His steps echo to the floors below. All that empty space for eight people. All that glory only for the world to still need saving. All that pain only for Percy’s throat to go dry when his best friend asks him what’s wrong. 

_Nothing, just tired._

Percy’s legs give out the moment his bed is within falling distance, and the weight pressing into his shoulders displaces itself horizontally, pinning him to the mattress. It’s a wonder his rib cage holds up under the pressure with his hollow bones. Something should have splintered by now. 

Several pairs of footsteps echo down the hallway, throwing off Percy’s ability to decipher who’s walking by. He can tell Annabeth from her footfalls alone, same as Grover (though it’s admittedly easier to tell goat hooves apart from human feet), but this group doesn’t stand out. It’s probably Jason, Piper, and Leo. Or the girls are hanging out. Percy’s room is the last one in the hall, so he’ll know when they stop at whatever room they’re heading to. 

They don’t stop. 

They thunk all the way to Percy’s door. If Percy cared to, he could make out their urgent whispers, but he busies himself with pretending to be asleep instead. Sleep is the one sacred thing they won’t interrupt. 

One voice escalates. “Dude, I _know_.” 

It’s Grover talking to Annabeth. Percy can’t hear her, but she’s the only other person on this ship Grover calls dude with such fondness. Her footsteps travel back up the hallway, stopping at her room. 

Percy’s door creaks open. A magical flying ship headed by a dragon that speaks Morse code, but the door creaks. Fitting. 

“I know you’re awake.” 

Percy waits a few slow, fake-sleep breaths, just in case it’s a bluff. 

“Percy, I love you dearly, but I can tell you’re awake because our brains are connected, not because you’re a bad actor.” The mattress dips with Grover’s weight. 

So much for sleep being sacred. 

Gone are Grover’s soft, inquiring looks. Stubbornness and determination lay in the lines of his face, a grown-up air of protectiveness that only comes out when shit is serious. Surely this means something is wrong with the ship. They’re at sea right now—Percy knows their coordinates, feels the boat rocking in the waves, senses every gallon below calling to him. _Open the doors. Sink the ship. Bring them all down with you._

“Perce?” 

Grover looks at Percy’s hand, which Percy didn’t realize fisted in the comforter. He forces it to unfurl and shakes out the ache. 

“Sorry, I’m just—” 

“Tired,” Grover interrupts. “Yeah, I know.” 

Panic runs cold in Percy’s blood. His bed is pushed against the wall for comfort’s sake. With Grover blocking the only exit, it’s a cage. He’s a cornered animal, debating fight or flight. The porthole window is looking tempting right now. If only he could stand the smell of the salty air—he would’ve left it open. 

A firm hand clasps over Percy’s. “Hey, it’s okay. Do you need some air? I can—” 

“No,” Percy snaps. “The ocean… it’s… I don’t want it.” 

Grover nods, his face softening. “Okay.” 

He says it like he understands why Percy can’t handle the crushing weight of the ocean, the way sea breeze fills his lungs and taunts him with the taste of drowning. As if he understands that Percy can’t drink without swallowing fire, or drowning in hopelessness, or _misery_. He doesn’t understand. He can’t. Annabeth felt the fire and hopelessness, but the poison of misery is Percy’s own burden to bear. Grover is a lot of things, but he is not well-acquainted with misery. Not like Percy. Grover is sunshine on a cold day. More times than not, Percy is the cold day. All of that warm, gentle light means so much more when it fights through clouds. 

They sit in silence, which is uncharacteristic for Grover. Maybe the months Percy spent away weathered him; maybe that sunshine burned out without a soft cloud to give it a break. Usually he’d try to ease the tension with small talk or a joke. Percy doesn’t know what to do when faced with the patience he doesn’t deserve.

He slips his hand out of Grover’s. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know. I’m fine.” 

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Grover says. “And I’m a Protector, not a babysitter.” 

Percy cracks a smile. “Sure felt like a babysitter when you found Annabeth and I in the stables. You here to protect me, G-Man?” 

Grover doesn’t smile back. “Yeah, I am.” 

“There’s nothing to protect me from. What are you gonna do, fight Hypnos?” 

Again with the silence. Percy knows that his tone could be kinder, especially when Grover is here with such good intentions, but good intentions have always been the thing to divide them. Grover, the nourishing sun, and Percy, the rain cloud who empties under the guise of giving.

“Do you think I don’t feel it?” Grover doesn’t look straight at Percy, which he appreciates, because the implications of that question make drowning seem like a good option. 

Still, he doesn’t have the strength to name his pain. “Feel… what?” 

Grover’s deep brown eyes are wounded and wide. “I felt the fall. I dreamed of the monsters you had to fight down there… the curses, the rivers.” 

Percy sits up. “It’s okay. We made it out.” 

“Stop.” Grover grits his teeth. “Stop pretending it’s over just because you didn’t die. Or that you have to be the one protecting me. It’s not over, Percy. I can still feel it. I don’t know what happened with you and Jason, but I felt this… _shift_ in you. You stopped talking to me, you barely speak to Annabeth, but you’ll talk to _Jason?_ Of all the people on this ship, Jason is the only one who knows why you’re hurting. Not your best friend. Not your girlfriend. The guy you didn’t even like until a few weeks ago.” 

Only Grover could get to this point with so little to go off of. That’s part of the reason that being around Annabeth was easier: she’s logical. If Percy keeps himself in check and provides no evidence, there’s a chance he could fool her into thinking he’s alright—or at least seem frosty enough for her to know that breaching the subject will be futile. He can kiss her in a way of apology or distraction. None of that applies to Grover, whose intuition becomes him. He has a nose for these things, that goat. Between the empathy link and Grover’s unshakable need to watch out for the people around him, Percy should’ve known this was coming. 

For once, he tells the truth. Anything to stop the tears in Grover’s eyes from spilling over. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“I don’t either,” Grover admits. “But I feel this… this _emptiness_ in you. It’s like you’re asleep all the time, even when you’re awake. Everything was so loud when you were in Tartarus—” 

Percy flinches. 

Grover notices. “Percy, what happened down there?” 

“I have watch in a few hours, can’t we do this another time?” 

“No, _Piper_ has watch in a few hours. You have a day off, and I’m staying with you for all of it.” 

“That’s not fair. They shouldn’t have to pull my weight just because I’m—” Percy falters. 

“Because you’re _what?”_

“Because I’m _me!”_ Percy throws his hands up, defeat filling the hollowness of his bones. “Because I’m weak. Because I’m tired. Because I’m burned out.” 

“Percy.” Grover’s voice is gentle. “You’ve saved the life of everyone on this ship countless times, some of them before they even knew you existed. Anyone would be tired after that. But I don’t think tired is what you’re trying to say.” 

“Then what _am_ I trying to say? Why aren’t there words for this? I can’t even talk to anyone who feels the same way, because they’re ancient. They’re _dead._ I’m supposed to be dead!” 

“...You don’t mean that.” 

“You think I didn’t notice the way people looked at me when I got claimed? The way Chiron always looked away when I talked about college until last fall? Sometimes Annabeth… she’d look at me like I was hurting her if I smiled too hard. Or it’d be quiet and sunny and she’d sketch me like she was trying to memorize my face. Like she was trying not to forget. And my mom took so many pictures—I know that’s something moms do. I get it. But she took so many.” 

“Percy…” 

“I’m glad I didn’t leave them. Annabeth, my mom—I don’t want to hurt them. I _can’t_ hurt them more than I already have.” 

“How have you hurt them?” Grover asks, his voice gentle like he knows the answer. Percy hates it. In that moment, he wants to fling the covers off and scream _by existing! I hurt them by existing_ , but he knows how that’ll go. Grover will tell him that isn’t true, Percy will disagree, and he will have to say out loud that the only way to stop hurting the people he loves is to stop entirely. 

Everyone has placed their bets on a losing dog. Percy can’t be what anyone needs him to be—born to run, but never to win the race. It was over the moment the bell rang. 

“Tartarus,” he gasps, because it’s the lesser of two evils. Tartarus is an easier horror, an expected one. It’s easier to articulate despair from the deepest pit of hell than to address the worthlessness that was there before. “I scared Annabeth down there. More than once, I think.” 

“Take me through it.” 

He does. Grover shifts on the bed so that his leg rests over Percy’s blanketed foot, enough to keep them connected without crowding in. Percy keeps his arms wrapped around his bent legs and resists the urge to hide his face in them. Talking might be easier if he didn’t have to watch his words wash over Grover, but there are more important things than Percy’s pain. For instance, his pain hurting his best friend. Opening up hurts. Not opening up hurts. There’s no winning, no painless way forward. There is only forward. 

He tells Grover everything. Not how he feels, just an impersonal recount of the events. The words echo in Percy’s ears as though he’s an observer on the other side of the room. He hears someone describing the despair of the rivers, the curse of the Arai, and the goddess of misery, but it doesn’t sound like him. This kid is emotionless, detached. Percy wants to grab his shoulders and scream _Calypso cursed Annabeth because of you. She would have died because of you. She was scared of you in that cave. Don’t you care that you hurt her? Who the fuck are you?_ But this stranger just rattles off traumatic events like a grocery list. Losing Bob and Damasen, seeing Tartarus, closing the Doors. Never the guilt of manipulation, the terror of certain death, the exhaustion after days on death’s door. Grover felt those things. He doesn’t need to hear it. 

“What were you thinking about,” Grover asks, “in the cave?” 

“You didn’t feel it?” 

“I _felt_ it. You were angry, scared, hurting. But I’m not you. I don’t know what it was like down there. I don’t know what was going through your mind.” 

Percy finds himself uncomfortable with anger—ashamed, even. It’s Greek fire that burns, smothers, and snuffs out life. Water drowns, but at least it’s something he can control. Greek fire will not be extinguished. 

He takes a shaky breath. “I did it for the wrong reasons. Akhlys wasn’t even going after Annabeth. She was after me. And when I poisoned her… for a moment it felt _good_.” Percy stares at the blue comforter before him, unable to meet Grover’s eyes. “That makes me a monster too.” 

Grover’s brow furrows, his chin wobbles, and his eyes water all at once. There are too many emotions to make out. “She tried to kill you, Percy. And she would’ve if you hadn’t stopped her. Self-defense doesn’t make you dark. It doesn’t make you a monster.” 

“Annabeth said it wasn’t meant to be controlled. She said not to do it again,” Percy mumbles. 

Grover draws himself up, stacking his vertebrae with purpose as he stares Percy down. “I don’t care. You were fighting for your life, and you might have looked scary while doing it. What she said immediately after doesn’t matter. But she’s afraid _for_ you, not _of_ you. I’m the oldest of the three of us, I’m the Protector, and I’m _telling you_ that you did what you had to do to survive. What else were you supposed to do?” 

_Die._

Despite or because of the silence, Grover hardens. “No. You would’ve, what, left Annabeth to die alone? Never met us at the Doors? There was no other way, Percy. You did what you had to survive. That doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you human. Now,” he clears his throat, indicating that the argument is over, “what happened with Jason?” 

“He saved me. Pretty embarrassing, honestly. I asked him not to talk about it.” 

“Oh, so you haven’t spoken to us out of pride? That’s Annabeth’s fatal flaw, Percy, not yours.” 

“I told him about the poison… with Akhlys. He just kind of interrupted me, but I think I needed to talk about it.” 

“That sounds right, honestly. He’s Thalia’s brother. The Graces have never had much luck with their emotions.” Grover fixes Percy with a _you’re not getting rid of me_ stare. “So, how’d the poison come up?” 

Fear strikes through Percy like a lightning bolt.

“Hey.” Grover raises a hand and puts it on Percy’s knee. Cornered animal. Fight or flight. “You’re safe. You’re in your room on the Argo II. I need you to breathe, Perce. You’re shaking the ship.” 

Percy wishes Grover sounded scared. The boat rocking beneath them, swinging the cords of the ceiling fan. Wasn’t the water smooth at dinner? Percy remembers staring at the still surface of his glass. What waves can rock a ship this size? The kind that call out, _sink. The ocean floor is home for tragedies. Isn’t that what you’ve always been? Come home, Percy._

“ _Percy_ ,” Grover insists. “You are _safe_. Just breathe, dude. I’m here. Breathe with me. Come back to the room. You’re safe.” 

Percy is somewhere in the waves, being smashed upon the hull of the ship. Every time he thinks he’s come up for air at last, the current takes him under once more. There is no catching his breath. The ship knocks it out of him with bruising force, and the ocean steals it away. 

Percy’s hand hits his sternum, immobilized by Grover’s palm. When did he get so close? Grover’s hand clasps Percy’s free one like a lifeline and presses it to Grover’s chest, like his steady heartbeat can calm Percy’s frantic one. 

_Breathe._ In through the nose, two, three, four, five. A squeeze of Grover’s hand. _Hold,_ two, three, four, five. _Out,_ two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. They repeat the cycle, breathing the same air until the ocean falls silent. The only voice telling Percy to come home is Grover’s. 

“You with me?” he asks. 

Percy nods and loops his thumb over one of Grover’s fingers, asking him not to let go just yet. He needs the firm physical reminder of his own beating heart, the rise and fall of breath in his lungs. He’s still breathing. That has to mean something. 

And he almost sank the ship at the mere mention of what happened with Jason that day. All his friends, the quest, the fate of the world, sniped by Percy’s bad temper. 

“It came up because I was poisoned down there,” Percy chokes out. His voice is hoarse. “Polybotes had it just for me. Seemed fitting, you know, after what I did. So I let it take me.” 

“Did you let it, or did you seek it out?” 

“I…” Percy swallows. “I charged right into it. He threw a net over me and I just. Stayed there. I could’ve moved it away from me. I didn’t.” 

“Perce…” 

“I deserved it. For what I did, the pain I’ve caused. If I were gone—” 

“Don’t finish that sentence. You didn’t…” Their hands, which were connected over Percy’s chest, now rest linked between them. “You didn’t have to carry this weight alone.” 

“It’s okay,” Percy croaks. “I can take it.” 

“No, you can’t.” Grover clasps Percy’s neck, that stubborn love that simmered under the surface coming to a boil. “You’ve always been willing to sacrifice yourself for others, but now you don’t even need a reason? That’s not noble, Percy. You aren’t saving anyone, only hurting yourself.” 

“The world is ending, Grover. You guys have more important things to worry about than me.” 

“No, actually. I don’t.” 

Percy fixes him with a withering stare. “Don’t lie. There are six other people on this ship who need you. Gaia is trying to kill us. The Prophecy says the world is going to fall. I’m not that important.” 

“You know better than anyone that prophecies don’t always mean what we think. And you _are_ that important, Percy. At least to me.” 

“Grover, please.” 

“Look at me and tell me that I’m lying.” 

With the last of Percy’s willpower, he lifts his gaze to meet Grover’s. Nothing but resolute love burns in the depths of his brown eyes, like he can transplant it into Percy if he stares hard enough. That’s the worst part—the sheer truth of that stare. There is nothing more important to Grover than making sure Percy is okay. He withers at the very thought. His mother has that patience, and look where it got her. Percy’s safety came before her own, and it came with a price. He can’t let Grover make the same mistake. 

This is how Percy learned to love: by laying across the coals so that no one else gets burned. He scratches the scars from Mount St Helens, the evidence branded onto his skin. 

The ocean whispers once again.

_What set you up for failure more: your mother’s love or your father’s absence? You were born to drown in one or the other. Which will it be today: her silent suffering or his thundering rage?_

Silent suffering has simmered too long. It rises to a boil, a violent burn that bubbles in Percy’s chest. The room shifts, and he can’t tell if it’s the sea or his brain until something crashes from the nightstand. Outside, the sea churns despite the clear night sky. This is not a monster or menace, just the fear of a child. 

“Percy—”

Percy fists his hands in the comforter and screws his eyes shut. “Grover, stop. Keep everyone below deck and—” The ship groans. Grover doesn’t move. “Go!” 

Instead Grover wraps around Percy, pulling him into the soft fabric of his knitted sweater. Percy’s eyes open, his pulse races, and his hands fly up. This is too much, he can’t control the emotions bombarding the floodgates like the ocean below those stable doors. This will be the thing to sink him.

Percy’s heart hammers in his throat. “Grover? Grover, you need to get out of here. I’m not safe to be around. I can’t—I can’t control it. Take everyone to Frank. He’ll get you guys out if I…” He gasps. “If you have to leave me here. You’re everyone’s protector. Protect them from me.” 

Grover just anchors Percy while the ship rocks. “I’m everyone’s protector, but I’m _your_ best friend. I’m not leaving you. Ever. I couldn’t save Luke or Thalia, but I swear on the Styx, I will save _you_.” 

Together they cling to each other. Not the Lord of the Wild and the Savior of Olympus—two boys, two best friends. Ugly sobs are muffled by Grover’s sweater, but they escape Percy all the same. Grover just holds him through it, clinging tight while his lungs heave. He’s drowning in this. 

“I won’t lose another friend like that. I watched her die, Percy, and I did nothing. Luke carried Annabeth to the border, and I just stood there. But you?” He rests his palm on the back of Percy’s neck, voice thick. “I’m going to protect you, even if it’s from yourself. No matter what. You hear me?” 

The warm grip of Grover’s palm guides Percy up, and he sees the true depth of the cavernous guilt in Grover’s eyes. They have always mirrored each other and hidden it well, avoided it like Tartarus—the pit tried to take Grover before it came for Percy and Annabeth. A complete set. But even Tartarus has a stopping point. They fell for nine days. Grief and guilt run deeper; Percy has yet to stop falling. 

“Why me?” Percy asks, feeling smaller than he ever has. “I’ve done everything I can, and it’s never enough, Grover. The world just needs me more and more, and it’s so _heavy_. I don’t know how to put it down.” 

“I’ll carry it,” Grover says. “I know it doesn’t work like that. I know. But you shouldn’t have to do this alone. You can’t.” 

“I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“Percy.” Grover grips his shoulders and pulls back, his face etched in stone. “You almost died. You _tried_ to die. Losing my best friend is more of a burden than helping him get back on his feet could ever be. Everyone is a burden sometimes. I got goat-napped by a Cyclops and you went to _The Sea of Monsters_ for me. I gave us an empathy link knowing it could kill you if I died.” 

“That’s different. I didn’t care.” 

“Any why is that?” 

Percy looks at his lap, struggling. “Because I care about you.” Horror washes over him. “Gods, Grover. I could’ve killed you.” 

“Don’t go down that road,” Grover warns. “Do you remember what you said when I offered to sever the link?” 

Silence. 

“You told me to keep it—knowing what could happen to you—because you wanted to know when I was in trouble. Well, you’re in trouble. And I’m here. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Using my own words against me,” Percy grumbles.

Grover grimaces the way he does when he’s gearing up to tell a painful truth. “You got good at rolling with the punches and thought that meant you needed to take more hits. But you don’t.”

“I just want the world to stop swinging at me.” 

“It can’t always swing so hard. Someday it’ll stop. I’ll be with you until then. I’ll be with you after.” 

_There will be an after_ , he seems to say. _By sheer force of will, I will get you to the after._

Silence swells in the room—not silence in the true sense, but an absence of words. There is still the scratch of Percy’s blankets under the boys’ folded limbs, the rasp of breath and hum of electricity. Outside, the ocean sings a lullaby instead of a swan song. _Sleep,_ it says, _but not forever. Let the light wake you in the morning._

Percy pulls Grover into another hug. A lifeline. 

“Grover?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you.” 

Percy senses more than sees Grover’s smile: his lungs relax, his shoulders settle, and his arms tighten. “I love you too, Perce.” 

Percy doesn’t want to cheapen that, so they bask in the warm glow for a bit. 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

The bed shifts as Grover pulls back with a cautious eyebrow raised. “Depends.” 

“Can you not tell Annabeth about this?” Grover freezes. “At least until I figure out how to tell her myself! I don’t want her to worry.” 

“She’s already worried, dude. And not to add onto anything, but she should be. You’ve been worrying us.” 

Percy swallows his discomfort. “Can it wait till morning? I just don’t think I have that in me right now.” 

The air stills as Grover nods, reluctant to leave. For the first time in weeks, Percy finds that he doesn’t want to be alone. 

“Will you stay?” he asks. “And maybe, uh, help with Annabeth in the morning? If you have other things to do, that’s okay—” 

Grover’s face lights up. “I’d be happy to.” 

There’s a bit of back and forth with the covers as they make room for two, but Percy finds himself settled and warm between Grover and the wall. Grover is restless, flipping back and forth before settling his back against the headboard. 

“You gonna sleep, G-Man?” 

“I’m on watch,” Grover answers softly. The light from the porthole outlines his silhouette and casts shadows in his eyes. Percy wonders how many times he watched over Luke and Thalia like this, under the same moonlight, and how many times he has dreamed of it since. “Sleep. I got you.” 

There will be other days to talk about that. The cavern of grief is still cleaved into each of them, but tonight has cast a fistful of dirt into each. Not much, but a soft foundation. 

Percy squeezes Grover’s hand and falls asleep, truly protected. If nothing else, he is loved. 

He lets Grover wake him in the morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> A few prompts on tumblr spiraled into this! I am so sorry!


End file.
